


Cut Down Trembling

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Captivity, Early in Canon, Interrogation, Mental Anguish, Past Character Death, Prisoner of War, Vulnerability, Why can't I write anything happy for the Praxians?! DX, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7626127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early in the war, Megatron captures several of Prime's Autobots, but when he interrogates Prowl, the Praxian's answer to his questions comes as quite a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut Down Trembling

If anything, Megatron was surprised by how quiet his captives were being. When Starscream and his Seekers brought several of Prime’s Autobots into their base, most of them had done nothing but scream vitriol at the Decepticons; they’d raged helplessly as they were dragged off to be safely locked away.

Megatron had expected more of the same when he had Prime’s first officer brought to him for questioning. Instead he was puzzled by the SIC’s brooding, accusing silence.

“Prowl,” the warlord called to him, his vocals drenched in false kindness, catching the Autobot’s dark optics. “All I want to know is Optimus’ next move. Tell me that and I might have some of your comrades released!”

For a nanoklik longer, Prowl stared at him and finally opened his mouth, but what he said wasn’t what Megatron had expected in the least.

“Goldwork…Livewire…Stormbreak…Brushlight…Starburst…Eon…”

“What?” Megatron tried to cut in, bewildered. “What are you—?”

“Circuitbreaker…Bluebird…Torrent…Rebar…Grease…Coil…Dagger…”

“What are you saying?! I asked you a question.”

“Compass…Silvercast…Valkerie…Paradox…Skid-Out and Brakeline…

“If you're just going to spout some miss-clocked gibberish at me—”

At the word “gibberish”, Prowl’s vocals rose, optics igniting with something cold and painful as he went on relentlessly.

“Pylon…Shift…Longways…Skyline…Flashpoint…”

“Silence!” Megatron shouted, unnerved by what seemed like meaningless scrap. “What are you trying to play at, Autobot?!”

“Ricochet…Firework…Switch and Blade…Jeopardy…Overclutch…Virtue.”

The list abruptly came to an end and Prowl lowered his helm, clenching and unclenching his hands in his stasis cuffs. Resisting the urge to fidget, Megatron gestured for Skywarp and Thundercracker to take Prowl back to his cell.

 _Perhaps he’ll be more forthcoming when he’s had a few orns to think about the wellbeing of the others,_ he decided.

Despite Megatron’s hopes, he didn’t have any better luck with the rest of them. They were either silent and sullen or wrenching against their bonds, trying to get at him. It didn’t do much good, but it did give Megatron his next idea to coax some information out of Prowl.

He’d learned some interesting news from Soundwave: two of the other captives were Prowl’s relatives—his cousin, Smokescreen, and his twin brother, Bluestreak. That made them quite the powerful motivators. He had put them in cells as far away from each other as possible, so none of the Praxians knew what had been done to either of the others. During his interrogation of Smokescreen, he had Prowl watching on a screen in the next room, guarded by Soundwave.

“So do we feel like talking today, Autobot?” Megatron questioned nonchalantly, his benign smile belying his impatience. Smokescreen quite literally growled at him, engine revving menacingly, and Megatron huffed. “I take that as a no. Too bad…If you don’t tell me what Optimus’ plans are, I’ll be forced to kill you as I did the other one…the sniper.”

Smokescreen’s mask of anger melted away, replaced with shock and horror. “Bluestreak,” he gasped. “No, you—” For a klik or two, it seemed all of his systems froze, and then he lunged, narrowly held back by Dirge and Ramjet. “You’re lying!” he howled, looking near-feral. “My cousins are alive! You—you _spawn of Unicron!_ Where are Bluestreak and Prowl?!”

“Gray and rusting!” Megatron barked back. “And you’ll join them soon!” Once the thrashing, howling Smokescreen was dragged away, Megatron strode in the next room where Prowl sat, infuriatingly calm.

“Did you hear him, Prowl?” he taunted. “Your kin is suffering. If you tell me the truth, I’ll tell him the truth that you’re alive—for now.”

“I hear him,” Prowl growled, optics fixed on the now-blackened screen on the wall. “But I can’t do any good for him if you can’t even hear the truth I’m _giving_ to you.”

“What are you talking about?” Megatron exclaimed indignantly.

Ex-venting, Prowl finally glanced at him, but it was fleeting. Instead he fixated more fully on the floor, clenching his hands as he had during the first interrogation.

“Goldwork…Livewire…Stormbreak…Brushlight…”

Disgusted by the return of the list, Megatron left Soundwave to escort him back to confinement, the strange words ringing in his audials.

He tried again with the SIC’s brother, with the same infernal result, Bluestreak howling and crying and fighting. The only difference in Prowl was that when Megatron went into the next room, Prowl was standing, doorwings lashing like blades on his back with barely contained fury, ready to kill if he had been free to try.

Between the Praxians’ rage and Starscream’s silent smirks at Megatron’s lack of control, he didn’t bring any of the other Autobots in for questioning again. He just brought Prowl, determined to figure out whatever “truth” the tricursed Autobot was spitting at him. The only thing he said was that bit-brained code, from “Goldwork…Livewire…Stormbreak…” to “Jeopardy…Overclutch…Virtue.” It went on for orns and after a while, Megatron realized it was a list of names, but whose names, he didn’t know.

Finally he decided to bring the three of them into the room together, forced onto their knees in front of him. As far as Megatron could tell, Prowl barely even glanced at his family, lifting his helm and beginning the list all over again.

“Is he glitched? What are these names?!” Megatron demanded of Bluestreak and Smokescreen. “He does nothing but recite them! What does it _mean?!_ ”

As he listened to his cousin, Smokescreen’s demeanor grew to match Prowl’s, angry and intense. Bluestreak, on the other hand, to Megatron’s surprise, began shaking.

“Those—those are the names of the Praxians we knew who died when your—when your _monsters_ destroyed our city,” he spat. “They were elders and sparklings, our friends, bots who wouldn’t hurt anyone, and you murdered them.” When Megatron simply folded his arms, Prowl’s twin shuttered his overly-bright optics. “For vorns, we were at peace, we had nothing to do with your fraggin’ war, and then you came and cut them down like they were _nothing_.”

“Bluebird…Torrent…Rebar…Grease…”

“You scattered our people,” Bluestreak ground out. “You took family, friends… There wasn’t enough of our people left to bury. We never got the chance to bury what we did find and you don’t care. You’re sparkless enough that you never even bothered to look at the sparklings you had your soldiers destroy! You cut them down like the Senate had your gladiators cut down, as if it was worth something, but you never gave them a second glance! How was it worth anything?!”

“Compass…Silvercast…Valkerie…Paradox…”

“I was there. I—I was almost one of them and I almost wish that I had been, just so I didn’t have to remember everything we lost! These names are the ones Prowl remembers. I remember _more_ , cos I saw more. When you’re judged, I’m going to be there and I’m going to list every single Praxian I saw killed because of you,” Bluestreak swore through tears. “I’m going to make sure you know what you did to us.”

“Pylon…Shift…Longways…Skyline…”

“We’re never going to stop,” Smokescreen spoke up, tone venomous even as his optics welled too. “Because you never have. You can kill us, the last of the Praxians, and finish off what’s left of our city, but the other Autobots are going to remember our names with all of the others and the cause isn’t going to stop until you _pay_.”

“Switch and Blade…Jeopardy…Overclutch…Virtue.”

Once the last name had been spoken, the three Autobots stayed quiet, each trembling to a degree. Megatron couldn’t find anything to say. They were clearly on the edge, but was it worth trying to interrogate them in this state if it meant he had to hear any more of their vows or their crying? He didn’t think it would be, so he gestured for them to be taken back to their cells, ordering Ironhide to be brought instead.

What Bluestreak said was true; Prowl remembered each of those lost lives all too clearly. He had been at an Autobot base, far from the devastation, powerless to protect any of them.

Stormbreak had blue optics and a constant coating of oil on his hands and he’d loved to laugh. He wasn’t strong, but he could always find some optimism in the worst of times. He was found with his arms over his helm, as though to shield himself.

Bluebird was a sixty-vorn femmeling with dark blue paint and green optics, full of curiosity and wonder with the world, already hoping to be a teacher of the arts when she grew up. Prowl had found her tucked under her sire’s detached leg.

Flashpoint was witty and clever, constantly underfoot despite his age, and loved getting in and out of mischief. He was one of Smokescreen’s closest friends. Even in death he was underfoot, shattered into countless smoking pieces.

Skid-Out and Brakeline were twins with beautiful cobalt optics and kind voices. Twins were rare among their people, much less twin _femmes_. Skid-Out had always been sweet on him and Brakeline on Bluestreak. They were far from each other when they fell, the worst fate Prowl could have imagined for any twins to bear.

Pylon was seventy vorns, a very shy mechling, always with his face and doorwings ducked as he peeked out at the world with watery blue optics. He had lost his creators long before the attack but had somehow decided Prowl was as good a sire-figure as any; on quiet evenings, he would follow Prowl on his patrols at a safe distance. They found nothing but his chestplate.

Switch and Blade were brothers, far too much like Prowl and Bluestreak for comfort. Bluestreak had sent Prowl a letter after he joined Optimus, saying they were the ones who had bonded to Skid-Out and Brakeline. They had died clinging to each other, ambushed from behind. It was probably painless, but that made no difference in Prowl’s mind.

For a long time, Prowl thought he was alone with his memories, so he let himself give in to the urge to hug his knees against his chest. He hadn’t showed his grief for Praxus in vorns because he couldn’t afford to be weak in front of the others. He’d done his best, tried his hardest, but there wasn’t anyone here now, so he tucked his face into his arms and wept quietly until he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He jerked out of his pose, venting sharply, and saw Jazz was the owner of the hand, reaching through the energon bars nearby. Rather than being angry or wary, Prowl felt nothing but relief. This was a friend, someone who wouldn’t judge him.

“We keep on fightin’,” Jazz told him quietly.

Releasing a shuddery sigh, Prowl slumped against the wall of his cell and mustered a nod. “Till all are one.”


End file.
